Wine and Good Times
by I Am Raskolnikov
Summary: Kurt and Blaine had grown further apart as time wore on. How far would either of them go to find love? Please review.
1. Chapter 1

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I give you... _Wine and Good Times, _A _Glee_ fanfiction.

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Glee.**

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They met in a café on Seventh Street.

The two of them had never meant to meet there, never meant to cause so much pain and suffering, never meant to see each other again. However, they, as all men and women, were subject to the whims of fate. He was wearing black, like a mourner - a knee-length black coat embellished with silver buttons, ebony slacks and dress shoes constituted his attire. When he walked into the café, he entered eyes cast downward. When he sat, he spoke to nobody, and when anyone cast eyes on him, he shrunk into the folds of his coat.

She, in contrast, wore brighter, happier shades. In contrast to the black coat of the young man, the young woman donned a radiant white parka and jeans. The young woman entered five minutes after the young man, ordered her coffee, and sat down, eyes wide and alert. It was at that moment that her eyes met his.

Snow whirled outside, blanketing the ground in white. Both patrons were covered in snow, and their footsteps resonated throughout the little café. This was perfect. She was on his mind, and he was on hers. The café was a quaint little establishment; black and white tiles covered the floor, and various paintings hung on the walls, some of flowers, others of animals. The stout little lady behind the counter happily chatted up customer after customer. No more than thirty people occupied the establishment- everyone minded his own business, and one could hear the sound of big band jazz playing from the speakers. The young man and young woman sat at different tables. She wanted to speak to him, and he wanted to speak to her, but neither had the strength. Several awkward minutes passed before the girl finally broke the ice.

"Kurt..." the young woman murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Rachel, just the person I wanted to see. How is everyone at New Directions?"

"We're doing fine. After we won regionals, we decided to perform at a few charity events. I hope things are going okay at Dalton Academy?"

"You could say that. You know, I missed you- I missed you guys." Kurt said, allowing a smile to play across his face.

Rachel looked around before slowly approaching Kurt. "I miss you too, actually. Sometimes, I wonder, 'how is Kurt doing?' or, 'has he found anyone?'"

Kurt said nothing, but continued to sip his coffee. Rachel took the opportunity to take his hand in hers; her palm was as cold as death. "You don't mind, do you? My hands have been freezing."

The young man shook his head. "Yeah, I found someone. Oh, I have to go. My boyfriend wanted me to meet him at his house."

Kurt then flashed a cherubic smile, waved, and turned to leave. As he sauntered away, Rachel noticed five elliptical bruises on the back of his neck. Reaching for him, she opened her mouth to speak, but he was gone before a single word could escape her lips. The snow fell fell in enormous flakes, and the wind, for a brief moment, sounded like the screams of the damned. Throwing her half-finished coffee into the garbage, she walked out into the snow, the image of the bruises vivid in her mind.


	2. Chapter 2

All righty, on to chapter two! Here's Blaine!

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own Glee.

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When, the following day, Kurt stepped through the gates of Dalton Academy and looked up at the building towering above him, he saw a prison. He didn't know why - the academy always seemed like a safe haven, but today, it seemed to be looking down upon him, as if he had committed a felony. Hands in his pockets, he looked around, and, seeing nobody, rushed to his first period. It was at that moment when a gentle tap on the shoulder stopped him in his tracks. Turning his head to see his follower, he saw, grinning at him, Blaine Anderson, the love of his life and the fire of his loins. Kurt turned the rest of his body slowly, facing Blaine, but refused to look him in the eye.

"What's wrong? Aren't you happy to see me?" Blaine inquired, tilting his head slightly to the side. "You know, you're safe here, nobody can harm you in this place. And nobody can hurt you when I'm around..."

It was at that moment Kurt noticed a black notebook in Blaine's hand. "Blaine, what do you have there?"

Blaine stiffened slightly and exhaled. "Oh, in Biology, we're doing dissections. I don't care much for it; last week, we dissected a frog and examined its anatomy. Today we're dissecting a cat. It's no big deal, it really isn't, but I just don't care about cutting open animals. Which way are you heading, buddy?"

"I'm- uh... there's a psychology test today. I think it's pretty close to your classroom, but I'm not entirely sure. I don't want you to be late." Kurt began to shiver - the cold was cutting into him like a scalpel, and driving itself through every last cell in his being.

The older of the two students laughed. "Deviance is nothing new to me. Don't get me wrong, I'm a good boy most of the time, but I've broken a few rules before. Now, something seems to be troubling you. What's wrong?"

Kurt knew precisely what was wrong. He realized he didn't love Blaine anymore, but he and the warblers were the only people Kurt truly had. McKinley High School was cruel to him. Even when protected by Finn, every day, he was greeted by slushie after slushie, beating after beating. Here, Kurt knew he was safe. But at the same time, he was incarcerated. Blaine had developed an unusual habit of sticking close to Kurt at all times, even when he wanted to be alone. At times, he seemed to be everywhere. However, even so, Kurt knew that for now, Blaine was his only protector from the evils of the outside world. Taking a deep breath, he looked at the gate, and, edging closer to Blaine, whispered: "Sometimes, all the bullying, all the beating, all the abuse... it remains fresh in my memory, and it's too much."

"Kurt. I care about you, I really do. Nothing can get you here. Now, tell me about psychology- has your teacher gotten to the Milgram experiment yet?"

"Yeah. It was cruel of him to do that to people - to force them to hurt one another just because a man in a lab coat says so. Sometimes, it seemed like Coach Sylvester ordered those football players to assault me."

"Mm. But I often wonder myself- would I do it? Or, if someone dear to me gave me the order, would I be willing to shock someone to death?" Blaine looked at a nearby oak tree, devoid of foliage. "Right, let me walk you to Psych. The winds are getting stronger."

They walked, arm in arm, to psychology, Blaine leading. The winds seemed to whirl around them, almost as if it were making an attempt to pry the two apart. As if to shield Kurt from the biting cold, the older boy pulled Kurt close, almost dragging him into the doors of the academy. When they got to the classroom, Kurt sprang into action and hurried into the room. Turning to give a quick farewell to Blaine, he saw the upperclassman writing furiously in the ragged black notebook.


	3. Chapter 3

"Hey, I'm glad you made it. We have to talk."

Kurt nodded to Mercedes as she climbed up the empty bleachers, puffing, panting, and clinging onto the rail for support as her red jacket swayed left and right. She was one of the few people he'd continued talking to after his transfer to Dalton Academy. It was easy to see why; in her countenance, one saw a face one could trust, and as she took a seat next to her friend, she drew him close in a bear hug. "Hi, sweetie! God, it's been such a long time. How have you been?" Mercedes asked, smiling sweetly.

"Things have been a little rough lately, between me and Blaine. And then on top of that, I realized I was starting to miss everyone, especially Rachel."

"Oh? What's up with Rachel?" Mercedes crossed her legs and inclined her head sideways. "Did something happen?"

"I don't know," Kurt replied. "I just... I haven't seen her in a while, and - don't get me wrong, I missed all of you, but I've gotten so tired of Dalton lately, and it's just... I feel kind of bad for all the slights that have occurred between us, and just seeing her again kind of made me happy. You know what I mean?"

Mercedes nodded. "Yeah, I feel you, honey. How's your boyfriend feeling though?"

Kurt bit his lip. "Um... he's all right. Sometimes though, I think I need my space. See, I used to think I was passionately in love with him, but now I think the flame's just dying, you know what I mean?"

"Yeah. I get that." Suddenly, Mercedes placed her hand on Kurt's chin. "Honey, could you turn your head a little bit? I think I see something."

Kurt obliged, revealing a row of bruises lining the nape of his neck. They were an ugly shade of bluish-yellow, thick and repulsive. Mercedes cringed. "When did you get this?" She was no longer smiling, but filled with worry.

"This is nothing. Really, it isn't." Kurt mumbled. Looking up at Mercedes again, however, he quickly stammered, "I- I got this about a month ago."

"Boy, you're lying. What really happened?"

"No, really, I did. Things just get worse and worse though."

"I thought Dalton was against bullying." Mercedes's mouth hung open in shock as she ran her fingers over the bruises. Kurt winced.

"They are."

"Then you have problems at home?"

"No."

"Who did this to you then?"

"I'd really rather not say." Kurt wiped his eye and withdrew, wrapping his arms around himself.

"Tell me."

Suddenly, Kurt thrust Mercedes' hand away with a surprising amount of force. "I can't tell you!" he yelled. At that, he ran down from the bleachers, leapt over the rail, and hurried off as quickly as his legs would take him, leaving Mercedes completely alone and confused. Sighing, she climbed down from the bleachers slowly, sighing. Turning her head to the parking lot, she saw that Coach Sylvester and Coach Beiste were heading for their cars, laughing as they were preparing to leave. The snow beneath her feet was starting to melt; soon, it would be spring, and everything would blossom again.

She quickly snapped out of her trance, however, when she realized that she'd forgotten her chemistry textbook in her locker. Heading back into the school, she realized how empty the halls were at this hour. She thought she could hear footsteps, but when she looked around, she saw nothing. As she passed the girls' locker room, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Hey, you remember me, right?"

Behind her was Blaine, in a khaki trenchcoat and black slacks. Smiling boyishly, he removed his hand from Mercedes' shoulder and looked her straight in the eye. "Can we talk about Kurt? It's really important."


	4. Chapter 4

**All right, I'm back. Sorry I couldn't update before, been busy and stuff. Well, here goes.**

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Around six twenty-five the following morning, Coach Sue Sylvester was the first to arrive at the school, keys jingling in her hand. Her pace was brisk, her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes constantly scanning the empty campus grounds. It was especially cold that morning, and Sue struggled to avoid shivering. Unlocking the door of the school, she continued down the hallway to her office. However, she had only made her way to the girls' locker room, when she detected a revolting smell in the air. Turning to find the source, she noticed that the door of the locker room was slightly open, the lock shattered a white handkerchief lying on the floor. Kicking the handkerchief to the side, Sue brusquely thrust the door wide open and stepped inside. As she looked around for the source of the stench, she paced from one row of lockers to the next. When she reached the opposite corner of the locker room, she lost her composure and screamed.

Rachel arrived about half an hour later to discover, as she made her way to the parking lot, a row of police cars at the front of the school. Holding her purse close to her, she felt a chill run down her spine as she stepped out of her car that cut far deeper than the morning air. She felt the urge to investigate herself. Following a nearby policeman, she made her way to the girls' locker room to find Coach Sylvester, pale as a ghost, talking to an officer.

"I - I don't know what happened there. I'm still a little bit shaken. Sorry - I don't know how to react to this..." Sue stammered.

"I understand." replied the officer. "In my twenty years of being here, I've never seen anything like it myself. Did you know her?"

Sue looked away. "I did. She was one of Mister Schuester's students. A singer in the show choir. Some of my girls were in there - oh God!" Sue buried her face in her hands.

Rachel's eyes widened. Ducking under the police tape while the two were occupied, she made her way to the end of the locker room, only to discover Mercedes.

She was tied to a bench, her arms and legs hanging off the sides. Her shirt was lifted up to her chin, her pants down to her ankles. There were signs of a struggle - the ropes that bound her hands and legs cut deep into her wrists and ankles, and there were bruises on her forehead. The extremities had been cut open, revealing the sinewy muscle underneath. Additional incisions revealed the bone underneath. In addition, Mercedes' killer had left a long, deep incision from the base of her abdomen up to her throat. Her belly had also been opened like a pair of shutters, its contents spilt about the floor; part of her large intestine dangled next to her hand. Most grotesque, however, was the single slash on Mercedes' face: he had carved what resembled a smile from ear to ear, then peeled back the flesh, revealing all of her pearly-white teeth. Her eyes were also glued wide open; clearly, she was watching as he ran the knife across her arms and legs, then across her abdomen. Rachel wondered if she lived long enough to watch him slice open her once-rosy cheeks.

As Rachel looked at the remains of her friend, too stunned to even say a word, she suddenly felt the weight of the officer's hand on her shoulder. Suddenly, she fell to her knees and wept. The officer looked at Rachel, then to the corpse, and back again. Crouching next to her, he whispered, "I don't know how close the two of you were. But you have to go now. We're here to take care of everything, and we'll make sure that this doesn't happen again. We've just found some evidence that should lead us to our killer. But you have to go and let us do our job."

Rachel looked up, locking her own chocolate-brown eyes to the policeman's gray. He seemed somewhat gruff - his bushy brown moustache, peppered with bits of gray, combined with a scar or two, made him appear somewhat weathered, yet dignified. Nonetheless, Rachel could see in his eyes that he was just as shocked as she. Rising to her feet, she nodded and headed for the exit, still clearly disturbed. As she did so, four other officers made their way through, in search of more evidence. One held a plastic bag containing a white, floreted handkerchief.

Around the same time, Blaine sat inside his room at Dalton, completely alone. Examining the inside of his coat, he was pleased to discover that none of Mercedes had stained it. Then, examining the bloody clothes he wore underneath, he packed them into a garbage bag and kicked them under his bed. Pulling out a little bottle of chloroform, he examined it in his hand. There was still a large amount left. Suddenly, he realized that he'd lost his handkerchief. Damn it, he thought to himself. I just bought that Sunday.

Finally slipping on his school coat, he opened his drawer and withdrew a wicked hunting knife, pulling it partially from its sheath. The blade was about sixteen inches long, made of stainless steel. Pulling out the entire blade to examine it in all its splendor, he admired it in the rising sun. He'd cleaned it well; as he fingered the black wooden handle, examining it for stains, he smiled, finding it completely spotless. Not bad for a first kill; all that planning had paid off. Though he conceded that he didn't wield the knife as aptly as he did the scalpel in his biology class, the cuts were still relatively clean, despite the constant struggling and pleas for mercy. Blaine preferred it that way; he'd only given her a small dosage so he could get her into the locker room. It wouldn't be anywhere near as fun to do it while she was unconscious.

Suddenly, he realized that he was late. Sheathing the knife and slamming it in the drawer, he headed for his first class.


End file.
